“The Great White Father, or Big Daddy, as he’s sometimes known, is not available at the moment, Top. He’s done tippee-toed off to feed his face, thereby giving lie to the belief that the man never eats or goes to the bathroom.”
“Who … who is this?” the voice of the company’s first sergeant demanded.
“You got Rose at this end, Super Sarge … that’s Rose as in Rose-alie? I am faithfully and alertly monitoring our dazzling communications network this evening, as is my sworn duty according to the duty roster you signed and posted this very morning.”
“That Rose?” Tusk-anini rumbled, but Phule waved him into silence as he listened for the next exchange.
“Rose?” Brandy’s surprise was clear in her voice. “I don’t … Well, tell the captain when he gets back that I want to talk to him.”
“Hold on a second there, Brandy-Dandy. Before I tell him any such thing, perhaps you might want to reconsider your request? The Main Man is tryin’ to keep going on potato chips and two hours sleep, and I was kinda hoping he’d have a chance to fall on his face and die for a couple hours when he got back-that is, if there isn’t an emergency hangnail or something to keep him up all night. You don’t suppose that just maybe this busy old universe of ours could stagger along without him until morning, do you?”
“Rose, have you been drinking?”
Phule fought back a snicker and kept listening.
“Not a drop that wasn’t as pure as a maiden’s virtue, O’ Ramrod of the Masses … and don’t you go trying to change the subject. Is it absolutely, positively cross-your-heart-and-kiss-your-elbow necessary that you talk to the Cheez Whiz tonight, or can I maybe leave him a love note for when he wakes up?”